Pollyanna did not stop now to look up at the patches of blue
between the sunlit tops of the trees. She kept her eyes on the
ground to make sure that no twig nor stone tripped her hurrying
feet.

It was not long before she came in sight of the house. She had
seen it before, though never so near as this. She was almost
frightened now at the massiveness of the great pile of gray stone
with its pillared verandas and its imposing entrance. Pausing
only a moment, however, she sped across the big neglected lawn
and around the house to the side door under the porte-cochere.
Her fingers, stiff from their tight clutch upon the keys, were
anything but skilful in their efforts to turn the bolt in the
lock; but at last the heavy, carved door swung slowly back on its
hinges.

Pollyanna caught her breath. In spite of her feeling of haste,
she paused a moment and looked fearfully through the vestibule to
the wide, sombre hall beyond, her thoughts in a whirl. This was
John Pendleton's house; the house of mystery; the house into
which no one but its master entered; the house which sheltered,
somewhere--a skeleton. Yet she, Pollyanna, was expected to enter
alone these fearsome rooms, and telephone the doctor that the
master of the house lay now--

With a little cry Pollyanna, looking neither to the right nor the
left, fairly ran through the hall to the door at the end and
opened it.